


Just Slightly

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [38]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marking, Protective Ian Gallagher, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Rough Kissing, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 05:41:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon prompt! : "Prompty prompt: Ian and Mickey are slightly territorial when it comes to each other. Just slightly"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Slightly

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of took the "slightly" and turned it into VERY SLIGHTLY but ah well, I couldn't help it. 
> 
> I can't help but mark these boys up, LIKE SERIOUSLY SO YEH
> 
> prompt me if you like (or don't, its up to you. Life choices and all that) : im-an-angel-y0u-ass.tumblr.com

Mickey didn't get territorial when it came to Ian. He really didn't. That's what he tells himself, anyway. Ian would come home from work, huffing and puffing about how one of his work colleagues tried to hit on him, or how some guy in the diner tried to slip his number in with the bill, and Mickey couldn't help but get angry and feel his chest pump the blood around his body furiously. Ian was his, and all of his, and he couldn't let _any_ fucker have him. Marking him was the way to tell them to back the fuck off, showing that he was taken and not up for grabs. That's what relationships were, right?

 

–

“Mickey?” Ian called out as he slammed the front door shut, chucking his bag against the wall with the numerous shoes cluttered against the floor in a pile. He follows the noise of the television, taking him to the couch which Mickey happy sprawled against, only in his boxers with a near-empty can of beer in his hands. “Hey, Mick?”

Mickey's eyes don't detach from the television, his smile splitting against his face each time some poor fucker got busted for drink driving on the dumb tv-show he couldn't stop watching. “Hm?” he mumbles, raising his eyebrows as a sign that he was listening.

“I've got a work do tonight.” Ian answers, hands curling around each other as he waited for Mickey to react. Work do's weren't the regular thing, and when they did happen someone would take it to their advantage to try something.

Waving a hand, Mickey frowns, “ _And?”_

Ian sits himself down for this one, slapping his hands against his thighs. “ _And_ I wanted to know if I could go?” He knows its a stupid question, because Mickey didn't control him and he was free to do whatever the fuck he wanted in this relationship, but it didn't stop him from asking.

Mickey turns from his spot, kicking his legs off the couch and sitting at the side of Ian, placing his can against the smashed coffee table. “Why the fuck you asking, I ain't your keeper?” He barks, scowling a little. Was Ian really asking him to go out? As much as he wanted a chilling night in with his boyfriend, a crate of cold beers and good stash of weed, Ian did deserve some time out for once.

“Craig is going.” Ian bites his lip, closing his eyes in a wait for Mickey's outburst.

On cue, Mickey grits his teeth, making a disgruntled sound in his throat, “The fuck that won't stop trying to get his hands down your fucking pants?” Mickey hated that fucker, like loathed entirely, no matter how many times Ian had told him to back off he just wouldn't get it.

Ian already knows what Mickey's thinking, he's known him for too long _not_ to know what he's got on his mind. “It's okay. I can handle it.”

“Handle it my fucking ass.” Mickey shot back, rubbing a frustrated hand against his forehead.

Waiting, Ian watches as Mickey stresses himself to think of a solution. As much as he hated to think it, Mickey was right. Craig was a persistent fucker, that couldn't stop grovelling at his feet and trying to hitch a grab at every interval. Each time it happened Ian was minutes away from knocking out the fucker, or just calling Mickey to get him down there and do it himself. Placing a hand on Mickey's thigh, he squeezes against the skin before he says, “I'll just hide in the corners, stay clear from the guy, hell – I can either get the security dude to protect me.”

“What, so he can have a feel too?” Mickey raises an eyebrow, snarling. “That fucker isn't going to stop until he knows you're fucking taken.” Mickey was seriously compensating killing the dick.

Ian sighs, rolling his eyes at the jealously striking through Mickey's face. “He already knows that, I've told him hundreds of fucking times, he just doesn't get it.” And God, you'd think that someone would back away from the guy dating Mickey Milkovich, but _no,_ Craig obviously had a death wish.

Mickey shifts against the couch, scratching the back of his neck, until his eyes shoot to the idea. “You know what, fuck it.” He grabs the back of Ian's head, drawing his lips to his, his tongue licking at the seam of his chapped lips and opening Ian up to him. He climbs onto Ian's lap, straddling his hips, hands crawling through his hair. His mouth moves against Ian's roughly, biting at the tusk of his bottom lip. Ian groans beneath him, hands firmly holding against his thighs. Mickey's lips fall to Ian's jaw, nipping at the skin a little, with a rough kiss he trails his mouth down to the column of Ian's neck, his mouth opening so his tongue could flicker against the skin.

Through his gasping inhale, Ian pulls away slightly. “You marking me up, Mick?”

The brunette leans back, a smirk playing on his lips, winking towards his boyfriend. “I'm marking what's fucking mine.” With that, he pushes Ian's back against the couch, rolling his hips a little as his lips latch back onto the sensitive skin. Ian sharply exhales, hand resting at the nape of Mickey's neck, whispering curses to himself.

Mickey trails a hand up Ian's chest, pinching the skin by his ribs, his lips now moving slowly as the red mark starts to appear against the pale skin. Ian's a panting mess under him, hands gripping into the skin of his hips, his top lifted up a little against his chest. Once his mission was done, he kisses lightly against Ian's pulsing skin, gently trailing kisses back up to Ian's jaw and over to his mouth.

“Are you jealous, Mick?” Ian teases, eyes fluttering open as Mickey sits back against his lap, hands braced against his chest.

Shaking his head, Mickey shoves his hand behind him and grabs his beer, pushing it to his lips, grinning. “Not jealously, Gallagher, I'm showing that fuck he isn't getting his hands on this cock.” Ian gasps as Mickey's hand cups his dick, hand sinking below the waistband. Ian hadn't been happier that the party wasn't till later, giving him time to fuck Mickey so hard he didn't need a mark to bruise his skin.

And when Ian got to the party, the collar of his shirt exposing his bruised neck, he couldn't help but laugh when Craig's eyes nearly popped out of his head, smile dropping instantly from his face once he saw the red mark plastered against Ian's skin, a bite mark directly beside it.

 

                                                                                                           ------------------------------------------------------

Ian didn't get territorial when it came to Mickey. He really didn't. That's what he tells himself, anyway. Mickey would come visit the diner during the week, grunting and cursing each time someone tried to sit by him in the booth hidden in the corner, or how the guy Ian worked with always tried to slip his number in with the bill, and Ian couldn't help but clench his fists and feel the anger rival up through his veins, making him see red, like a bull on crack. Mickey was his, all of his, and he couldn't let _any_ fucker have him. Marking him was a way to get the others to back the fuck off, show them he wasn't up for grabs. That's what relationships were, right?

\--

Mickey's stuffed in the back corner of the diner, hiding his face behind a bulky menu. It was nearing the end of Ian's shift, and Mickey always waited behind till closing time for him. Ian thought it was a cute, affectionate gesture but Mickey would kick his ass if he knew he thought that. Brushing past Mickey's table, Ian flicks the top of the menu, winking towards his boyfriend as he purposely went around tables bending over to pour coffees, or sticking his ass up to clean the table-tops. Ian knew Mickey was watching him, he _always_ watched him.

When he started up on the till, counting up the profits for the night, in the corner of his eye he could see the new kid Ryan walking up by Mickey's table. Now, Ryan was obviously a good kid. Just like Ian had been; looking out for his family, bringing money home, trying to fit in with society, and trying not to get beaten up for being gay. Because, lets be serious, this kid was _definitely_ one to take it up the ass. Still, Ian couldn't stop his eyes from narrowing, his fists clenching around the notes he had been counting.

He watches closely, trying to keep up his movements of shifting the money. He sees Ryan step over, his voice asking Mickey if he wanted more coffee, Mickey nods his head unamused, eyes still locked to his phone, and the kid giggles. He actually fucking _giggles,_ and if anything made Ian's stomach twist and turn it was that. That and the fact Mickey was actually talking back, his lips tugging at the corner, his phone forgotten against the table.

The longer Ian looked the higher the heat building in his chest increased. Ryan was obviously flirting, like that was clear as fucking day – the kid was bobbing on his heels, face flushed red, eyes widening each time Mickey made a comment. Ian felt jealous, more than jealous, he wanted to run over there and show him that Mickey was out of bounds, that Mickey was _his._ The height of the problem was the fact he needed this job, he needed something to fall back onto, _and_ he still had time to show the kid that Mickey was not reachable. There was also the fact, he really wanted to see how Mickey reacted.

Just as he placed the coffee infront of the old lady by the end of the counter, it instantly dawned on him that Ryan was still at Mickey's table, and Mickey hadn't glanced over once during their talk. Was he flirting? Was this really a reason to get jealous? Ian didn't give a shit, the protective mode was so fucking high he could hardly breathe. Looking over, he tries to catch Mickey's eyes, but Ryan is happily blocking the view.

As he walked over by a near-by table, he caught onto their conversation, feeling his heart shatter a little, “...nah, man. I got these when I was fucking fourteen or some shit. Brother thought he was the shit at doing tattoos, me being high of my ass let him. Worst decision of my fucking life.” Mickey rants on, obviously answering a question than Ryan had asked. Ian felt like punching a wall, his lip sinking hard into his teeth – keeping him from saying anything – Mickey had never told him that, _never,_ but he was happy to tell some fucking stranger? As soon as he hears Ryan flourishing with compliments he walks way before it got messy. Because it _would_ get messy.

Ian leaves it for the rest of the night, blocking out the left-side of the diner until he ushered all of the customers out. One by one they thanked him, handing him a couple of tips as he politely greeted them out. He doesn't bother to look back at the booth in the corner, too stubborn and too irritated to do so. If Mickey wanted to be that way, he could, there was nothing stopping him. Ryan wasn't _that_ bad. It doesn't stop Ian from flipping him off when his back was turned out back, it doesn't stop him from wanting to tear off his head and jump on it. Why did things get so violent when he thought of someone flirting with Mickey.

“Gallagher, hurry the fuck up.” Mickey beckoned as Ryan finally left the building. The brunette was tucked in his coat, hair messy against the crown, his cheeks red from the countless coffees he had been drinking for the past hour. _Oh, that's why._  Ian barges past him, grabbing the keys from the counter as he flicked the lights off. “Woah, what the fuck, Ian?” He shouts, as Ian slams the diner door shut, locking it as they huddled outside.

Instead of talking, he carried on pacing down the street, his hands firmly tucked into his pockets as he stormed a head of Mickey. It was cruel, he knew, but he was still pissed off and still wanted to rip Ryan's guts out and roll them under the fat fryer – and Ian never thought like that, if anything he'd stop Mickey from doing that – he can hear Mickey groaning from behind him, huffing frustratedly.

Grabbing the redheads arm, Mickey pulls him back. “You going to fucking tell me what this about?” Ian can see through Mickey's eyes that he means well, that he literally had no idea why Ian was strangely acting like this. Shoving his arm off, Ian carries on walking. “Gallagher, I ain't going to ask again.”

They stop in the middle of the path, Ian's nose flaring, his sharp gasps filled with anger and a tinge of hurt. “Don't start with this oblivious bullshit, Mickey, I knew what you were doing in there.”

“What the fuck are you going on about?"

Manically, Ian pushes against Mickey's chest, scoffing coldly. “You and Ryan, ring any fucking bells?” he clicks his fingers, tilting his head angrily. Mickey shakes his head, furrowing his brows with confusion, waiting for Ian to elaborate. “You were smiling, laughing, fucking telling jokes. I mean, you _even_ told him about your tattoos. You've never told me about that.” Ian rants on, tugging at the back of his hair as he grunts out effectively.

“Seriously?” Mickey snorts, shaking his head mockingly. “ _That's_ what's got you all fucking twitchy? That pansy talking to me about my tattoos seriously got you jealous, _really_?”

Ian scrunches up his face, hating the way Mickey made him sound so fucking stupid. Crossing his arms, he starts off the list of why Ryan could be so _spectacular._ “He's not so fucking bad, he can make you laugh, he looks like he's pretty adequate in bed. Dicks probably smaller than mine, but hey – that doesn't matter because he's sure hiding some sort of summer body underneath there. Dudes young, probably got high stamina, blow jobs skill are most likely mediocre but-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Mickey fists his shirt, dragging him closer on the path, his lips attacking Ian's aggressively and with passion. Ian's releases himself from shock, and falls into it, his mouth running along the soft-taste of Mickey's lips. When the brunette pulls back, eyebrows raised in his hairline, his hand still fisting Ian's work-uniform, he laughs, “You seriously think I'd go with any other dick after having yours?”

Challengingly, Ian sniggers, “I don't know, _will_ you?”

Mickey's eyebrow arches higher, tilting his head to the side, “You are so fucking dumb, you know that?” Just as the words fall out of his mouth, Ian's pulling him towards an alley, slamming his back against the wall, pinning his hands to the side. “I like your style, man.” Mickey beams, flicking his tongue out in a trick of seduction.

“You're fucking mine.” Ian's voice comes out domineering, his tone strong and demanding. Mickey tries to control the stir in his pants, but as his dick throbs against his jeans it becomes merely impossible. The redhead pushes himself closer, chest against chest, his breath hot against Mickey's skin. “This-” He grabs a handful of Mickey's twitching cock, “is mine.”

In his pain of gasping and moaning, Mickey manages, “Yes – all fucking yours, Ian. All yours.” His freehand loops around Ian's wrist, motioning it to move around his cock. Ian dips to the side, his mouth leading down a path against Mickey's skin, pressing his kisses against the hallow skin of Mickey's neck. When he breathes in, he can smell old cigarettes and the whisk of coffee, and Ian can't help but grin against his skin. Mickey always fucking smelt good. He sucks a mark against Mickey's neck, licking against the sore as he finishes the job.

In the midst of gasping for air, realising what Ian was doing, Mickey breathes, “You're such a jealous prick.”

Running his mouth further along the pale, smooth skin, Ian chuckles, “It's the only way.”

 

The next day, when Mickey waits for Ian to lock up, he can't help but snort when Ian kisses against the mark, grinning like an idiot, as Ryan stills with shock, eye balls nearly popping out of his head, flirtatious smile falling instantly. It's hard to resist not the pull Ian into a demanding kiss when he's all hot and flustered, filled with lust over his protective, territorial boyfriend. But he does it anyway.


End file.
